


Mouthy

by pixymisa, selecasharp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Uses His Words, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mouth Kink, POV Derek, Porn with Feelings, Scent Marking, Stiles' Mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixymisa/pseuds/pixymisa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selecasharp/pseuds/selecasharp
Summary: Derek might be slightly obsessed with Stiles's mouth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Pixymisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pixymisa) and I wrote this one together, but she definitely did most of the work. See below for a few inspirational gifs. :D
> 
> Crossposted to [LJ](http://teashopmuses.livejournal.com/99468.html) and [Tumblr](http://selecasharp.tumblr.com/post/151384262944/stiles-never-stops-moving-his-mouth-even-when).

Stiles never stops moving his mouth. Even when he’s not talking. Especially when he’s not talking. He worries at his lips with his teeth. He licks them. He chews on pens, straws, anything that he can get in there. It pisses Derek off at the same time that it makes heat pool in his belly. But the worst is when Stiles stops. Someone, usually Scott, will say something either heartwarming, stupid, or both, and Stiles will just stand there and watch, mouth open, lips wet.

The things he wants to do to that mouth...

But this thing they have, this weird awkward dating thing that Derek, frankly, sucks at, it’s new and tender. Yes, Stiles is eighteen and energetic and exists perpetually in a state between arousal and fear. Yes, Derek _wants_. But Derek knows that what he feels and what he can smell on Stiles isn't necessarily the same thing as what Stiles wants. 

So he sits and he watches and he is both grateful for and curses at Stiles’s oral fixation. And he waits for Stiles to make some sort of sign that it's okay to proceed. 

He sits in Stiles’s room, on his bed, surrounded by the smell of him. He comes in through the front door instead of the window and leaves the bedroom door open, because while the Sheriff is okay with the wolves and Derek dating his son, there are ground rules. And he tries, he really tries to ignore how often Stiles has his lips wrapped around _something_. But, he realizes after twenty minutes of a half-hour Stiles-stream-of-consciousness ramble that he's heard all of three words to, something has to break, and that something is his self-control.

The tipping point is when Stiles comes to some sort of break in his monologue, and he chews on the end of his thumb, obviously waiting for an answer to something. Derek stares at him, at his mouth, at a loss for an appropriate response, and then Stiles dips the tip of his thumb further between his pink lips and mumbles around it, “Derek?”

“I want my dick in your mouth,” Derek blurts. Once the words are out, there’s no taking them back, though his ears are hot and Stiles’s eyes go wide.

“Buh — wha — _Derek_?” Stiles sputters out, damnable thumb now out of his mouth, a little reddened and wet at the end.

Derek forces himself to look away, gets to his feet and stalks over to the window out of habit. It makes for a quicker escape, except that the window is locked. He puts his hands on it, stalled out, and then presses his forehead to the cool pane of glass. He hears Stiles get to his feet, his heart racing, smells the tang of arousal that lays thick in the air. “Sorry,” he murmurs, as Stiles comes up behind. “I—” He wants to explain, but can’t find the words, so he just shrugs.

“Derek,” Stiles says, in that tone of voice Derek’s been getting used to, the one that’s full of amazement, like he can’t understand why someone would want him, “that incredulous sputter? That’s a good sputter. I mean, I like this dick-in-mouth idea of yours. A lot.”

Derek takes a deep breath, pulls himself together, and turns to face Stiles. His eyes are liquidly dark, lashes low and fluttering, mouth open and wet. He glances down as if to check that, yeah, Derek’s dick is definitely on board with this idea, and the scent of him is so strong that Derek can taste it. Jesus, Stiles is going to be the death of him.

Derek steps forward into Stiles’s space, buries his face into the crook on his neck and just breathes him in. Stiles makes an aborted sound against him, hands tangling in his hair, pulling Derek deeper against him. He smells, he smells like nothing Derek’s ever had before. He smells like Adderall and caffeine, like burnt sugar and electricity, like, like _sex_ and _pack_ and _Derek_. He digs his teeth into the pale column of Stiles’s neck, keeps his teeth blunt and dull, but worries a mark right there.

And Stiles lets him. More than that, Stiles pulls at him, presses Derek’s face in closer, and keens, a raw high noise that has Derek wanting more than he’s ever wanted before.

“Stiles,” Derek manages to rasp out. “Are you, are you sure—”

“Oh my god,” Stiles returns. “Why are you still _talking_?”

They fumble towards the bed. Stiles pulls Derek down on top of him, and Derek follows, slotting one knee between Stiles’s thighs. He can feel Stiles through his jeans, can feel the hard line of him, full and heavy against his hip. He cradles Stiles’s face in his hands, sucks on his lower lip, listens to the sounds that come out of him. It’s heady, the knowledge that Stiles wants him, the smell of the two of them together on Stiles’s bed, the heat of them pressed close together. Derek wants everything, wants more than Stiles can possibly give, and he gasps at it, pulling away to catch his breath.

When he looks up, Stiles is watching him, amber eyes dark and deep. “You okay there, big guy?” His tone is flippant, one hundred percent pure Stiles, but his eyes hint at something more.

Derek wets his lips but doesn’t speak, just nods in response.

Stiles nods with him. “Good. Because I believe I was promised your dick in my mouth. And I’d like to collect,” he gestures wildly with one hand, nearly taking out his lamp in the process, “you know, sometime. No pressure.”

Derek swallows. “I think I can handle that,” he says, and the words feel like they’re scraped out of him. He pushes himself up off of Stiles, crawls forward on the bed, climbing up Stiles to his chest. He can hear Stiles’s heartbeat, loud but steady, and it only spurs him on. He straddles Stiles’s chest, knees on either side of him, and Stiles wraps his long fingers around Derek’s thighs, holding him in place. 

Stiles’s eyes flutter shut, his pink mouth open, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He’s waiting, ready. Derek takes a deep breath and undoes his fly, shucks his jeans down as far as he can manage in order to free his dick. He pulls it out and, hand shaking just a little, traces the curve of Stiles’s mouth. Stiles opens up, wraps his lips around the tip, probes the foreskin with his tongue, and then the corners of his mouth turn up into a smirk, and he’s pulling on Derek, pulling him closer.

Derek braces himself on the flat top of Stiles’s headboard, gasping. What Stiles lacks in experience he more than makes up for in enthusiasm; every time Derek has found Stiles mouthing on something, chewing on it, and pictured that mouth doing obscene things to him? It has in no way prepared Derek for the reality. Stiles hums around his dick, seemingly content, pink lips stretched tight, tongue lapping the underside.

“Stiles,” he chokes out, and that’s all the warning he can manage before he’s coming hard and embarrassingly fast. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind at all, doesn’t pull off or spit out or anything. He just coughs a bit, then looks up at Derek, looks wild and debauched and _happy_. And if Derek thought he smelled good before, well—

“I kind of thought that was going to last longer,” Stiles says, freeing up a hand to wipe at his lips. 

“Sorry,” Derek says. He eases off of Stiles, pulls him up into a kiss. “You smell... you smell like you’re mine,” he mumbles into Stiles’s mouth, then dips his head to lick at the mark he left on that pale neck. Stiles jerks under him, and the smell of arousal gets thicker in the air. Derek reaches down to cup Stiles through his jeans, just feels the heat of his dick.

Stiles whines and wiggles under him. “I smell like someone who hasn’t gotten off yet.”

Derek pauses to smirk against his neck. “That too.” He lets himself indulge for a moment, lets himself rub his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck and scent him, lets himself breathe in the mixture of him and Stiles. Then he pulls back, meets those bottomless amber eyes, and asks, “Any requests?”

The corners of that beautiful mouth turn up into a wide smile. “I can think of a few.”

  
  
  



End file.
